


The Vir Atish'an

by WardenCommanderCousland



Series: The Light in the Shadow [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Lavellan Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardenCommanderCousland/pseuds/WardenCommanderCousland
Summary: How did a young hunter from Clan Lavellan end up at the Divine Conclave?





	The Vir Atish'an

Adair Lavellan slipped out of the blanket and dressed silently. Gerritt didn’t stir until she gasped involuntarily, attempting to comb a snarl out of her hair as she braided it. She froze until he rolled over and snored again.

The light surrounding Clan Lavellan’s camp was grey and misty, heralding the coming dawn. Adair crept through the dewy grass towards her mother’s tent. Her bow and quiver were still lying on the bench where she’d left them the night before. She wiped the bow on the front of her tunic, attempting to dry the soaked wood, and rubbed a pine pitch rag at the middle to improve the grip.

A few other clan hunters were heading out into the woods, and Adair followed, picking up her knife and game bag from beneath the bench. A faint glow emanated from within the Keeper’s tent, but she turned her head away. She didn’t want to attract his attention, to have this conversation right now.

She followed the trail she set towards the first of her traps; she’d set out eight the previous day. She was already lucky: a rabbit was hanging at shoulder height, its rear leg having tripped her snare.

Andruil was generous today, Adair reflected as she placed the fifth rabbit in her pouch. When she reached the clearing where she liked to dress her kills, nearly halfway between the camp and Wycome, she found she wasn’t going to be alone. Two more hunters, Tannen and Dinala, were already there, carefully skinning a wolf.

“It was stalking the camp,” Tannen said as Adair drew near, catching her unasked question. “We didn’t want to take the risk of it coming after the halla or one of the young ones.”

Dinala wiped her hands on her tunic, leaving blood-streaked trails. “Are you going into the city today, _lethallan_?”

“I was planning on it,” Adair said, setting her pouch on the ground. She began to skin the rabbits, taking care to not tear the pelts. “Is there something you need?”

“No, but we have no need of the wolf skin for now.” Dinala watched as Tannen skillfully peeled the pelt back around the wolf’s feet. “Take it with you.”

A pristine pelt would be worth something, more than the rabbits she normally brought in. Adair thought back in her mind, tried to recall if she’d heard anyone mentioning supplies they were short on. Many in her clan were reluctant to go near Wycome, but she had developed a relationship with some of the traders there over the last few years, the ones located near the Chantry.

The sun was high by the time Adair reached Simms’s storefront in the Chantry square. The tanner no longer hunted himself, and as a result was always willing to provide a fair exchange for the pelts Adair and other Dalish brought in. His rheumy eyes brightened when he saw Adair approach. “What have you got for me today, my dear?”

“Five rabbits and a wolf.” Adair placed the stack of rabbit pelts on the stall counter.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers!” Simms cried when he saw the wolf pelt. “Did you kill this yourself?”

Adair blushed. “Maker, no.”

“Well, tell whoever did that he was a truly magnificent beast.” Simms examined the pelt closely. “Very skillful, I can barely see the cuts.”

“You can barely see anything.” Simms’s wife, Delilah stood in the shop’s doorway, hands covered in flour. “Where are you headed next, child?”

Adair shifted her game bag, the weight of the rabbits growing heavy on her shoulder. “I was thinking the apothecary, for dressings and some herbs. Our healers have been running short this season. And then the Chantry.”

Simms nodded and began writing out a list for Adair to take to the next shop. This was part of their agreement; Simms and Delilah negotiated on her behalf with many of the local shopkeepers, as a way of paying for the pelts. Delilah vanished into the shop, returning with two fresh loaves of bread wrapped in a thin cloth. “Take these.”

“You spoil her,” Simms said, shaking his head. His smile betrayed his admonishment.

“Joseph Simms, you know well that you’re going to miss Adair when the clan moves on. As it is, she’ll probably be married soon and then who knows how much time she’ll have to do your hunting for you.” Delilah pulled a piece of scrap leather from the basket at her husband’s feet. “Take this as well, dear. Your hair is coming untied.”

Adair accepted the leather thong and quickly wrapped it around the end of her braid. She thanked them and turned up the road towards Wycome’s alienage. Maybe if she could talk to Gerritt the way Delilah talked to Simms, she wouldn’t be so reticent about this match. But the clan’s First only seemed interested in acquiring fonts of knowledge from the Keeper and had no time what he considered Adair’s “foolishness”.

The elven assistant in the apothecary shop near the alienage accepted Simms’s trade list and provided Adair with three pouches of herbs and several rolls of dressings. The apothecary himself watched closely from his desk in the corner; he refused to deal with elves and only tolerated his assistant as a means to gain their business without having to interact with them himself. Simms vouched for Adair, but the apothecary still watched her with steel eyes, waiting for her to attempt to steal anything, every time she was in the shop. She made a beeline for the Chantry as soon as she left the shop.

A lay sister was reading to children in the Chantry yard when Adair arrived. “Revered Mother Elizabeth is in her office,” she said when she recognized the elf.

Adair loved the Chantry, the smooth stone floor and the flickering of the candles. She could hear a group of sisters singing in an alcove, and an acolyte was tending to the statue of Andraste at the front.

Adair was thirteen when she learned of the Maker. She had fallen out of a tree, perched and hiding while hunting just outside the city. Revered Mother Elizabeth, then just a Sister, found her and took care of her. She taught Adair the Chant of Light, told her stories about Andraste and the Maker, while her broken bones knitted and her concussion subsided. The Keeper and Adair’s mother were loath to let Adair stay in the Chantry, but wounded hunters are simply more mouths to feed, and those were lean years for the clan.

It was then that Adair began coming into the city regularly, to hear the sisters sing, the reflect in the dim glow. She began to wonder if the Maker truly could exist, if he had pushed Adair out of the tree as a means to show her his light. The Revered Mother helped her see that the Maker and the Dalish gods didn’t have to be mutually exclusive, that the histories suggested evidence of both Andraste and the Evanuris existing.

The heavy oak door leading to the Revered Mother’s office was worn smooth with centuries of hands pushing on it. Elizabeth was within, her habit tossed aside on a chair, head in her hands.

“Revered Mother?” Adair paused in the doorway. This felt like an intrusion. The Mage-Templar War hadn’t hit Wycome as hard as other cities in the Free Marches, and as such the city was becoming burdened with refugees, many of whom sought shelter in the Chantry.

She looked up. Her eyes were tired, but still alert. “Come in, Adair. I always have time for you.”

“I brought you some rabbits.” Adair slipped the game pouch off her shoulder, setting it on the desk. “I know it’s not enough, but –“

“Child, you are truly a blessing from the Maker himself,” the Revered Mother said. She pulled the rabbits out of the bag and set them aside. Adair stifled a laugh; their bald, lifeless bodies added an unintentionally macabre air to the otherwise well-appointed office.

“I was hoping you would come by today,” Elizabeth went on, gesturing for Adair to sit. “I need to meet with your clan’s Keeper.”

“Why?”

Revered Mother Elizabeth pulled a letter from her desk. “This war affects more than just mages and Templars, as I’m sure you know. I’m afraid the Dalish will not be able to hide from this war for long, and your clan is more willing to interact with humans than most. Are you still camped in the same place?”

Adair paused for a second, trying to remember the last time the Revered Mother visited the clan. “We’ve moved, about two miles northwest. I’ll mark the trail from the tree.” The tree where Elizabeth first found her.

“I will arrive by sundown.” Revered Mother Elizabeth stood from her desk and gathered the rabbits. “In the meantime, I will take these to Sister Amandine and see what she can put together. I think a nice, hearty rabbit stew will warm everyone’s spirits.”

Adair’s mother, Shirene, was waiting for her at the camp. “We need to talk about last night.”

Adair gave her mother the loaves of bread and pushed past her. “No, we do not.”

“Gerritt says you were gone when he awoke.” Shirene fell in line with her daughter’s pace. “He wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine.” They passed the Keeper’s tent, where Keeper Deshanna, Gerritt, and Alvera, the Keeper’s Second, were deep in conversation over the fire. Gerritt looked up and nodded as they passed.

Adair stopped at the chief healer’s tent to hand over the bandages and herbs then continued on to her mother’s, the tent she’d slept in every night of her life, except for those few months at the Chantry, and last night.

“You’re not fine,” her mother said. “You’ve been cold to your betrothed for months, you stopped me from preparing anything for your wedding, which I should remind you is at the next full moon, and I practically had to throw you at Gerritt last night in order for you to even talk to him. You know what this betrothal means to your father, to the clan.”

Adair whirled around on Shirene. “The Keeper only wants me to marry Gerritt to keep the position from going to someone outside the clan! He couldn’t father a mage of his own, so now I’m supposed to be what? Breeding stock?”

Her mother sighed. “ _Da’len_ , we have been over this dozens of times.”

“And I tell you the same thing every time!” Adair was furious. Anxious for something to do with her hands, so that she wouldn’t raise them against her mother, she pulled the leather strap from her hair and began to unbraid it. “I don’t feel anything for Gerritt and I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to be forced to bear a mage just to keep the Keeper happy!”

“Your father—“

“Doesn’t care about me.” Adair said with finality. “He hasn’t acknowledged me as his child since it became clear I had no magical talent.”

Shirene considered her daughter. “Did you at least _try_?”

“Did I let him fuck me, you mean?” The words had the effect Adair intended. Shirene recoiled, wounded by the suggestion. Adair didn’t know why she was so upset. It had been Shirene’s idea for Adair to sleep with Gerritt, that it might help her build an attachment to him.

A commotion was building in the camp, and Adair stepped outside of the tent, ready to tell off anyone who was listening in on her fight with her mother. But the crowd wasn’t facing her.

Revered Mother Elizabeth had arrived. She was brushing leaves from the hem of her robe as the Keeper approached. He gestured for her to follow into his tent, then shot a glance at both Adair and Shirene.

Keeper Deshanna and the Revered Mother were already talking when Adair managed to sneak into the tent. Gerritt grabbed her by the arm.

“You embarrassed me, you know,” he hissed. He let go and shoved Adair away slightly. He turned away, resuming his position at the Keeper’s side.

Keeper Deshanna’s voice rose. “And what does this human war have to do with us?”

“Keeper, you know that this war affects us all. How many of your hunters and warriors have been injured or killed simply because they got in the way?” Revered Mother Elizabeth glanced at Alvera. The young mage’s eyes widened and she ducked behind the Keeper. “And remind me, why is your Second barely out of her mother’s arms?”

“Alvera is old enough to learn,” the Keeper said testily. “But I concede your point. We’ve lost two warriors this season alone.”

“Divine Justinia is calling for a conclave under the banner of peace, for a chance to bring an end to the fighting. While the Dalish haven’t been explicitly invited, I recommend sending an emissary, if only to observe. What is decided there could affect all the clans.” The Revered Mother studied Gerritt. “I’d recommend sending your First, as his words will carry some authority should he need to speak on your behalf.”

“Absolutely not,” Keeper Deshanna said. “Gerritt has responsibilities to the clan and I cannot risk sending him so far away. As you so astutely pointed out, Alvera is too young to assume the position of First should Gerritt be captured or perish.”

Adair looked from the Revered Mother to the Keeper, then stepped closer to the fire. “I’ll go. Send me.”

Revered Mother Elizabeth considered her. “Adair would be a good choice as well. She knows enough of the Chant that we could readily disguise her as a servant in order to protect her.”

Shirene protested, “No. She is to be married in less than a month, and I will not let my daughter go so far away.”

Adair ignored her and instead stared down the Keeper. Deshanna studied his daughter, looking at her closely for the first time in years.

“When you came to me for your _vallaslin_ , you asked to be dedicated to Sylaise,” he said finally. The Keeper’s words were measured. “I thought you would ask for Andruil, the hunter, or June, the crafter. But you asked for the hearth goddess, the peacekeeper. At the time, I could not see it, but maybe this is how you follow the _Vir Atish’an_.”

“Deshanna,” Shirene raised her voice, ready to argue.

The Keeper raised his hand to silence her. “ _Vhenan,_ she will never be happy here. That has become abundantly clear in the last few months.”

He turned back to Adair. “Go. _Dareth shiral_.”


End file.
